A meeting in a bar
by keyrousse
Summary: When looking for one sniper, it's reasonable to ask another for help, right? One-shot, no names mentioned, might be confusing.


Vein struck! I'm still a Renner-gade (hoping he'll start picking better movies - I was hugely disappointed by "The Bourne Legacy"). I just rewatched "A study in pink" (Sherlock BBC) and I was smiling all the time. This show is really ingenious.  
So this crossover happened.  
Huge thanks for jack63kids for beta-ing. Please review.

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Light brown, short hair. Black leather jacket, worn-out boots and jeans. Muscular build, nothing too intimidating, but still making him a dangerous opponent in a fight. Big hands with long, calloused fingers. Blue-green eyes, chicken pox marks on his nose and right cheekbone. An easy smile. A perfect shot – proven in a few rounds of darts not so long ago.

Patience.

He was slowly sipping his beer, when a tall man with black, curly hair sat down beside him at the bar and ordered one for himself.

He could recognize a foreigner even before the man spoke.

"You know why I like Irish pubs?", he asked casually, like he had known the brunet beside him for years. "And my mother being half-Irish has nothing to do with it."

The stranger shot him a glance.

"It's because they usually have beer, not the beer-like, watery beverage most Americans are fine with."

He glanced at the brunet beside him and met his pale, blue-green-grey gaze. The stranger stood up and went with his beer to a table in the corner. He followed him. They both sat to have a wall behind them, but the brunet had the worse view of the room.

"You're not my contact," he said quietly. He knew who set up this meeting and the man beside him was not that person. The man he was expecting would be much more careful and surrounded with much more of a "I'm dangerous, don't try to mess with me" vibe.

"The meeting being set up by a spy doesn't have to be WITH a spy," the brunet replied with a deep baritone voice and the English accent of the upper classes.

"So your friend has friends up high," he said. "What do you want?"

"I was told you can tell me something about this man," the brunet showed him a photo.

"I can," he replied after a glance at the photo. "I'm not sure if I want to. Or rather if you want to meet him. He's very good at what he does and properly crazy."

"How good?"

"As a sniper? Unofficially second best. Officially the best in the world."

"Second after you?", the brunet asked with amusement in his voice. "No-one wants to admit to be worse than an archer?"

"Yeah, I can shoot you from a mile and a half and you won't see or hear it coming," he replied casually. He was used to – and perfectly okay with – not being taken seriously because of his weapon of choice. Being underestimated made his work easier and so much more fun. Besides, with his skillset he was safer if it wasn't well-known. Good thing he wasn't really visible during the Avengers missions. Cap, Thor, the Hulk and Tony were there to be noisy. He was fine with being the best in the opinion of a small number of people.

"No, thank you," the brunet replied. "I don't really care about your choice of weapon, how unusual it might be. What do I need to know about him?", he pointed at the photo.

He took his time to think what to tell this man.

"Sebastian Moran," he finally said. "It's probably his real name. He works for the most dangerous men in the underground. You should NOT approach him alone. You fit in more at fancy parties in the embassy or something. What do you want from him?"

The brunet stared at him. He was told he had an unusual eye color, but the pale stare of his interlocutor made him feel uncomfortable. The man's face was almost alien, pale, long with these cat-like eyes, straight nose and full lips with a scar in the right corner. He was clearly far from being comfortable, but still didn't even try to fake an American accent. The paleness of his skin didn't have to be natural, though. He looked tired and slightly desperate.

"He worked for my enemy. He's the last one I have to find to end this," the Englishman said, looking down, at the table.

He decided not to ask what "this" was.

"Well, good for you, I heard he's in London. It means you're going back home, huh?"

The brunet looked at him again, like he was searching for something.

"Look, good luck," he said, raising his hands. "Moran has stayed out of my reach for too long. I tried many times to get rid of him. The Earth will be a better place with him gone. I have no reason to like you, but I hope you have some strong back-up... Which you do have," he realized. "The man that asked my superiors for this meeting is on your side, right? Good place to start. So don't get yourself killed. One thing: Moran likes to play cards for money and he's good at it. He's also a drug addict. I'm sure you'll find it useful."

"I will. Thank you," the brunet replied, stood up and left, leaving his beer behind.

He watched him go, the tall, slender figure so out of his comfort zone, but still walking with his head held high.

"Good luck, man," he repeated and glanced down. The brunet left something else, a small box. He picked it up and opened it. Inside was a small steel arrowhead with a note:

"Personal thanks from the Secret Service  
MH"

He smiled.


End file.
